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She laughed. “No one paints women who look like me.”

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For years, Amanda had hidden behind oversized sweaters and quiet corners. The world had taught her that “pure” meant thin, delicate, and small. She was none of those things. She was vast, warm, and present. Her arms bore the softness of a thousand hugs given. Her belly, round and full, was a map of late-night teas, laughter with friends, and the comfort of being alive. She laughed